Maybe I could keep walking until I got service. Then I could arrange for someone to pick me up. Or I could just find my way down the mountain on my own. I’ve watched hiking documentaries before. Surely if I kept walking down, I wouldn’t end up lost.
My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. I don’t have a lot of options but to get on the damn horse with her.
“Fuck,” I rant under my breath, watching her and the horse disappear between the thick foliage of the trees. There’s no hope of me ever finding my way back to her family’s ranch, and I can’t bank on finding cell service anytime soon.
Which leads me to only one other option.
“Shortcake!” I shout, defeat clear in my voice. “Wait,” I add, jogging toward her. My toes are getting pinched in the tip of my boots. They’re probably half a size too small, creating blisters on the back of my heels as well. I ignore the dull ache of the boots and make my way to her, thankful that she at least listened for once and halted.
After stopping what was about to happen between us, it wouldn’t surprise me if she abandoned me at the top of the mountain. It might even serve me right.
I couldn’t help it. Once reality hit, I knew I couldn’t kiss her. I knew that it was the worst idea possible to involve myself with a woman who hates my guts—a woman who keeps trying to prove to me that I’m better than I am when I know I’m not. A kiss would lead to me wanting more of her. More of her past, more of her body, more of her rage. I’d want more and more until I was done with her, and for some reason, I know I wouldn’t be able to look at myself if I used her and left like I normally do. The women I involve myself with always know the rules, but some end up hurt anyway.
It occurs to me that I don’t want to hurt Pippa—no matter the simple yet complicated past between us when I know I’ve done just that—hurt her—with the words I’ve said while lashing out.
Her horse lets out an annoyed sigh, bringing me back to reality. Pippa stares down at me with anger—and hurt—in her eyes. I’m used to the anger. I’m not used to the hurt. It makes my chest feel heavy to see the disappointment. If only she knew how badly I wanted to kiss her. That the reason I stopped wasn’t anything to do with her and everything to do with me—as cliché as that sounds.
“Stop staring at me,” she insists, not looking me in the eye. “Get on,” she adds at the last minute, her tone full of exhaustion.
I don’t blame her. She wasn’t wrong when she’d called me hot and cold. I’m all over the place when it comes to her—something I’m not used to in the slightest.
My eyes travel the length of the horse. I know little to nothing about horses and the gear you use to ride one, but the saddle perched on the horse’s back doesn’t look like it’s made for two. “Where do I go?”
Pippa inches forward in the saddle, her strong thighs squeezing the sides of the horse. I’d love to feel those same thighs wrapped around me, squeezing my hips as she writhed in pleasure.
The last thing I should want on this planet is to have her body molded to mine. Maybe this was all part of her plan. If she really did hate me, the number one way to torture me would be to have her pressed up against me, her soft, warm body grinding against mine with every move of the horse, her usual smell of strawberries and vanilla taunting me.
Pippa’s hand reaches down, her small fingers with lilac-purple fingernails wiggling in the air. I focus on the color of her nails, shocked that something about her isn’t pink. Everything I know of her is pink. Her coffee shop. Her work van. The lids of the coffee cups. The T-shirts at work. The neon sign on the wall of Wake and Bake. It seems different for her to choose any other color for her nails.
“Are you going to take my hand and get on, or are we just going to stand here all day?” She doesn’t bother hiding her annoyed tone, not that I blame her. I’d be annoyed with me, too. In fact, I am annoyed with myself. But only because it will take an act of God to have my body molded to hers and not touch her in all the ways I’d fantasized about.
“I hate this,” I mutter, taking a step closer. Completely ignoring her outstretched hand, I grab the back of the saddle to heave myself up. She pulls her leg from the stirrup, allowing me to put the toe of the boot in and mount the horse.
“I hate you,” she snaps, attempting to scoot further up the saddle. My thighs straddle hers, my cock pressing up against her perfect, round ass.
“Let’s just not talk,” I demand. My jaw hurts from clenching it so hard. The sound of my teeth grinding is the thing I’m focusing on to keep myself from moving at all. If I move, my cock brushes her ass. If my cock brushes her ass, I’ll get even harder than I already am. If I get even harder than I already am, I might pull her off the horse and fuck her just to see if that’ll get rid of the bubbling sexual tension between us.
“You’re awfully angry for someone who put us in this situation in the first place.” She clicks her tongue, guiding the horse forward.
Fuck me. Every time the horse moves, it shuffles her body into mine. I’m so horny that even the brush of her against me has me sucking in air, trying to focus on breathing instead of envisioning all the filthy things I want to do to her.
“I said no talking.”
She laughs, arching her back way more than necessary. Is she fucking with me?
She rolls her hips again, confirming that she’s doing it on purpose.
What the actual fuck.
I sigh, trying not to feed into her little game. I can’t even spar with her right now. My focus is on mastering the willpower to not act on every dirty thought running through my mind.
What is wrong with me? I don’t even like her. I tolerate her at best because although I hate to admit it, she did show me some redeeming qualities about the town. Yet, all I can think about is threading my fingers through the long hair that falls down her back. I’d tug on it, forcing her to arch her back as far as it could go as I railed into her from behind.
“Hey, Camden?”
“Hm?”
“You don’t tell me what to do.” Her tone is sweet and innocent. Her hips are anything but. There’s no way they need to rock against me in the way that they are. Surely she’s doing it on purpose to get back at me. “You’re stuck with me. What a perfect time to talk about what the hell just happened earlier. Are you this hot and cold with everyone?”
I grunt. “Unfortunately, just with you.” I regret the words the moment they tumble from my mouth, but I can’t do anything about it. Hopefully she doesn’t read too much into it.
“Lucky me,” she says sarcastically. She glances over her shoulder for a moment, bringing her face too close to mine. I lean back, putting the only distance between us I can with us shoved in the saddle.
It’s silent for a period of time—thankfully. The only sound that can be heard is the rustling of the trees in the wind and the clopping sound of hooves against rocks.
My thighs hurt from clenching them so tightly around the horse to keep me on top. It’s the only solution besides wrapping my arms around her middle to help me from falling off on either side. I can only do it for so long. When we get to a point where we’re at such an incline that I press against her fully from shoulders to groin, I have no choice but to grip the saddle on either side of her hips.
She lets out an exasperated sigh before shoving the reins in one of her hands and pulling my arms around her with the other.
“I’m fine,” I argue, trying to pull my arms away.
“Stop being so stubborn. If you fall off the horse and break a leg, I won’t be able to get you back on the horse, and then we’ll be stuck up here together for even longer than necessary. So just hold on for thirty more minutes, and we’ll be back at the stables, and you’ll be rid of me since clearly I’m so terrible to be with.”
My lips thin out. She isn’t terrible to be with, and that’s what fucking terrifies me. We don’t get along. We fight more than we have a normal conversation, yet I want to spend more time with her. I don’t mind bickering with her. In fact, I think I enjoy it, and I hate that. I hate that my body wants her, despite my mind saying anyone but her—anyone but someone in this town that I only came to because I wanted to make more money and stick it to my dad.
“I never said you were terrible.”
“So it’s just the thought of kissing me, then?”
My arms tighten around her in frustration. “No. It isn’t that either.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s nothing,” I finally answer after a prolonged silence. There’s no use getting into it. I’m angry with myself for even thinking about kissing her—for telling her up there that I wanted to. And now I’m having to deal with the consequences.
Pippa shakes her head, letting out a long sigh of disbelief. “You really are just an asshole, Camden Hunter. Why did I think you’d be any different?”
